


One Step Foward (Two Steps Back)

by Numanum



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Shadowhunters (TV) RPF, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst and Humor, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Raphael, I feel so bad, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping, M/M, Magnus is a Good Friend, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Canon Compliant, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raphael Santiago Has Feelings, Raphael has issues, Raphael is terrified of everyone, Raphael-centric, Simon is kinda at a loss, my baby, serious ones, technically they're holding him against his will, temporarily, the asexualness has absolutely nothing to do with the past assault okay guys, the eating disorder and the past assault are linked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:12:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19289821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numanum/pseuds/Numanum
Summary: Raphael glared at the one Magnus had called Jace. "I don't like you," he said, giving him a dirty look. The blonde laughed mockingly, "Really? You don't even remember me.""I don't have to remember you to know I have better taste than that, Shadowhunter!" Raphael snapped back, baring his fangs. Jace faked a swoon so dramatically that the one who smelled like Magnus- Alexander-'s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. Though, to be fair, that seemed to happen a lot to people who were around Jace."Oh, I get a nickname now? Shadowhunter, how romantic!" Jace cooed, fanning himself. Raphael bristled. Magnus dropped a calming hand onto his shoulder as the other vampire, Simon, laughed, "Yeah, you didn't like him before either."





	1. Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael is found by strangers and his friend after feeling like he's been free-falling for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tags! Also, I live and breathe kudos!

The distinctly foreign feeling of floating encased Raphael’s body, turning his urgent thoughts of movement to distant urges and his bones to jelly. Moving felt just felt, _unnecessary_ , despite knowing that if the floaty feeling were to leave he would be uncomfortable. The floating sensation kept him unaware and comfortable, but it left him feeling like a small child waiting for the monster under their bed to confirm its presence; something had to happen eventually. At the moment, nothing was apparently happening; nothing was jumping out at him as _wrong_ , per say. Just- too quiet. Despite not remembering his all of his life before this point, Raphael got the feeling that silence was not a common occurrence. He knew he was a vampire, that his clan was mostly silent, but what would have been a comfort unnerved him now. He mentally added another item to his list of awareness.

Raphael was only aware of a few things, but the list was slowly growing: his back was curled against something rough, his face was pressed against a different roughness, and he felt like he was nearing the end of a high that he knew came only from drugged up mundane blood or magic. And now he knew that silence, something he'd lived in for years, was so alien to him he wanted to start banging pots and pans together just to _end it_.

 

The newfound uneasiness, he now associated with the silence, made him twitchy with nerves. In a way, it was like dreaming and knowing the monster is behind you but being unable to turn to face it- to defend yourself. Raphael's monster came in the form of icy cold hands that wormed their way over his body. They slid between his side and the concrete without moving his body- he knew they weren't real, but-

 

Phantom hands ran amok over his body and the memory of drugged blood resurfaced, the coldness of the hands making him shiver. The hands were rough: tugging at his hair, pulling at his clothes, forcing his head back uncomfortably to provide as much access to his neck as possible-

 

_Vampires bite each other for pleasure_ , was brought to the forefront of his mind and world became so still that Raphael feared it had ended with that very thought. If he could, Raphael would have flinched at the memory of hearing those words. _A willing participant in such an act would feel immense pleasure . Doesn't it feel good, Raphael?_  If he could, Raphael would reach up to run his fingers along his own throat, to ensure that it was still puncture free, to be sure that she hadn’t touched him. That the phantom hands were from the past and that they were going to remain that way until next time. Raphael had bigger issues that somebody touching him. The floodgates, however, had burst; _pretty, soft, sharp sharp SHARP_ -

 

_She would kill him this time, drain him till his last drop of blood sat on her tongue._

 

Other thoughts like it soon followed, their prints in a bold white over the black canvas that the backs of his eyelids created. When another wave of the floaty feeling crashed over him, Raphael was only dragged deeper, cold hands clawing at him as he went.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Awareness was a foreign concept at this point; what he had hoped was the end of the high had only bled into the continuous cycle of semi awareness (the hands left him alone then, but the sinking feeling was ever present) that looped to being so floaty that the hands that came back time and time again were seemingly the only thing keeping him on the ground.

 

( Raphael decided early on that he preferred the frustration of not being able to move to the panic that came with the hands. They were like wrapping paper came with a gift- expected.)

 

Just as another wave began to build above him, wreaking havoc on his senses of panic, sounds filtered through his ears with the grace of a herd of elephants running through the street (of Beyoncé riding a dinosaur through times square-). Raphael distantly felt himself jerk at the sudden cacophony of sounds as they flooded his senses, causing an unpleasant ringing in his mind. At least the sudden return of his hearing had temporarily beat back the next wave. It lapped against the walls of his mind like the ocean does with the shore. Unfortunately, the postponement only gave it more time to build as it undulated, barely held back. Then, like the last drop of water being added to a penny, the surface tension broke and the wave was released.

 

When it crashed, he heard his own pained gasps intertwine with the other sounds around him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Holy shit-” a gasp (not his, though he was still gasping for unneeded air), the sounds of rubber skidding to a halt on concrete, a dull thump, and the sound of a hand tightly gripping fabric greeted him when he was no longer floating. Feeling rather like he had been dropped from an extreme height directly onto asphalt, Raphael was suddenly flooded with the rest of his senses all at once, all of them clamoring for his immediate attention: he tasted blood, smelled rain and mundanes, felt the heaviness in the air that summer heat in the city always brought and the warmth of the ground under him. He heard crickets chirping in time with the ringing, indicating it was night.

 

“Raphael?”

 

And as the ringing cleared a bit, he heard his name.

 

A tentative hand, just as warm as the summer air surrounding him, tapped the accessible side of his face in a cautiously urgent pattern, as if determined to rouse him but prepared to yank it away like Raphael would attack the hand as soon as he awoke.

 

(Like hell, he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him- well, he does _now_ -)

 

Warm hands, _blisteringly hot_ compared to the cool fingers tapping a frantic pattern on his cheekbone, cautiously began to check him over from where he lay. They gently slid down his side with a firm pressure, similar to the way that one would pet a cat, in a touch that would have Raphael cringing away if he could consciously move at all. After they reach his hip, they slide back up to clutch Raphael’s shoulders, a tight grip forcing him upright from his slumped position on the rough ground as _even more hands_ maneuvered his legs to be out in front of him so that he remains more or less upright. The cold finger has abandoned his cheek in favor of gripping his face to tilt it this way and that. Another cold hand, presumably belonging to the same person, rests on his shoulder. 

 

Frantic voices filter in and out, but Raphael doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't do anything but put effort into the useless breathing he had been doing. Which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea; breathing was a waste of energy, but of a mundane was around and he stopped- it wouldn't be great. The new position he had been manhandled into causes what little blood he has in him to rush, with an intensity that would have knocked him flat if he had been in control of his limbs at all.

 

Based on the fact that a) he could feel the disgusting grit in his skin from the dirty ground, and b) he’d been floating for a _long_ time, he had been in that position for a while. The hand on his shoulder shifted and he attempted to raise his hands to sharply bat the offending, alien appendages away, but found himself only able to pathetically twitch his hands from where they rested at his sides. _Dios_ , it felt like he’d stepped into the sun to tan for a while; _everything_ hurt, and he was dizzy to the point of nausea, most likely caused by his hunger and the unsteady crashes that had rocked his body for god knows how long.

 

The hand that had previously rested on his shoulder slides up the left side of his neck, pushing his head to gain better access and becoming a burning kind of cold on the way. Raphael’s mind goes completely, forcefully blank as he quickly beats down the rapidly blooming panic bubbling in his throat in order to comply with the wordless order. Unsuccessfully attempting to fight down the whine building in his throat, he needlessly sucked in and released a shaky breath before tilting his head back and to the right, exposing the side of his neck to the previously searching hands that had vacated his body with his slight movements. He tried to still his panic, he doesn't have enough to give and _survive_ , but nothing else happens.

 

“Raph, you there?”

 

The whine he had been fighting back finally slips out, and the hands that had been resting on his other shoulder is slowly pulled away.

 

In fact, all of the hands were gone, and Raphael was torn between the suddenly extreme anxiety over somebody having found him and _left him there_ and relief that perhaps the hands had never really existed at all. Conversation flitted around him, intertwining with the ones in his head.

 

"We can't do that! It could freak-" 

 

“-rest of us need light!” it was shouted, the voice belonging to an obviously irritated female.

 

Raphael stops listening soon after that, not caring about it any longer. Actually, he's feeling a bit distant and he can feel another wave slowly building. Eventually, all the conversations turned to silence. For a few seconds there was nothing.

 

Then color exploded brightly behind his eyelids.

 

Raphael’s eyes snapped open and then shut as the impossibly bright light of the seraph blade next to his face flooded his senses. Groggily, he urged his head to loll forwards in an effort to  escape the brightness, his neck- and by extension his body, feeling weaker by the second as the floating feeling began to reclaim both his body and his awareness. Distantly, he agreed with the voice that had insisted against the light.

 

“- Raphael.”

 

“Magnus, why would he-”

 

Raphael’s eyes snapped open at the familiar name, his mind no longer fuzzy as the relief that hit him like a freight train ripped him from the icy hands that had began to grab on. But when seraph blades flashed in front of him he screwed his eyes shut. They continued to glow behind his eyelids and a steady wash of panic mutated the relief to fear for his friend's safety. He felt his fangs drop at the perceived threats, wincing as they ripped through his bottom lip.

 

His mouth worked overtime to form words, causing his body began to jerk from the rough coughs that shook him as a result. The cloying taste of coppery blood drenched his taste buds, the liquid itself gathering in his mouth at an alarming rate. His panic that had multiplied tenfold at the sudden and new type of pain faded as a comfortable warmth enveloped him and his stomach dropped even farther as the unpleasant feeling of going through a portal hit him.

 

Distantly, he heard shouting, and he knew that he should care more, but he recognized the warm feeling of Magnus’ magic when he felt it. He was gently set down on something soft, and on one hand he hoped he wouldn’t get his blood all over Magnus', most likely ridiculously expensive, furniture. On the other hand, it was usually really ugly anyway, and this would force him to replace it with something that was hopefully less atrocious.

 

The warmth of the magic returned as Raphael laid there, and he knew that Magnus would do his best to help. With that on his weary mind, he dropped.


	2. Friends in Low Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for translations! Also, leave me a comment or a suggestion if you want to.

Raphael awoke in a flurry of limbs and with an uncoordinated spasm-like movement that sent him painfully tumbling off of the surface- a hideous couch- he had been laying on. Any hopes of sneaking out without being coddled by Magnus- any hopes of convincing him he was _fine_ \- went out the window as soon as he hit the floor with a loud thump that sent people rushing over to him. He didn’t recognize any of them, but that hardly mattered; as Shadowhunters, they were just as likely to arrest him for what Camille had been doing as they were to kill demons. Fear sparked in his chest, making everything seem sharper.

 

He was _never_ going to trust Magnus’ definition of 'help'  _again_.

 

Assuming that Magnus was going to help him was giving him _way_ too much credit. Apparently, his definition of ‘help’ was to inform what seemed like _every Shadowhunter under the damn sun_ (okay, there was only four, but _still-_ ) that Raphael was hurt, and _invite them over_. Or maybe they invited themselves over- they were _great_ at that, sticking their stuck-up noses (and glorified glow sticks) in downworlder affairs. Unfortunately, these particular hunters were nosy and _loud_. They clamored around him, not touching him, but just lending their _suffocating, unwanted_ presence and loud voices to the general area. Raphael almost wished that his hearing was gone again, but he figured that knowing what they were saying would help him plan a quick escape. Logically, he knew that if they only wanted him dead they probably wouldn't have waited for him to be awake. Still, their presence made him uneasy. Or maybe it was Magnus' _lack_ of presence. He tried to use his enhanced senses, but all that did was make them seem louder.

 

Raphael was surprised, briefly, that Magnus hadn’t fried them for the noise yet. Assuming that he was still alive at all.

 

“Shadowhunters,” he greeted disdainfully, hoping to preserve as much dignity and simultaneously hide as much of his fear as possible. It wasn’t really working; he was making increasingly awkward eye contact with a tall blonde who seemed to think himself the leader of the small group. The blonde got an affronted look on his face, as if he was insulted or surprised that Raphael didn’t remember his name. It almost made Raphael want to cower. Why were names so important? Raphael had _better things to do_ than learn their names, like _avoid them altogether_. The other vampire in the room, who was half-hiding behind a short redheaded Shadowhunter, let out a snort of laughter at the blonde's face that had Raphael frowning in confusion. It was unclear if the vampire was laughing in a friendly manner or a _'you're-about-to-get-your-ass-kicked'_ manner. Raphael prayed to the God that had abandoned him that it was the first one, but it was unlikely.

 

“Get off the floor or Magnus is going to kill me,” the leader demanded, staring down at him. Raphael remained planted to his spot on the plush rug, fear making his body lock up. He almost hoped that the Shadowhunter was serious about Magnus killing him. Raphael certainly wouldn't be able to do it.

 

The blonde stepped towards him and made a move to grab at him, and Raphael shot sideways and rolled away. He hissed at him, feeling his fangs drop in retaliation to a perceived threat. A very _real_ threat, if he was being honest; the Accords had never stopped a Shadowhunter before, they wouldn’t start now. He didn’t know how threatening he looked, since his ass was on the floor and he felt like he might fall over out of fright, but apparently he looked threatening enough because the Shadowhunter took a step back and his hand went for his blade. Fuck, he was _dead-_

 

Suddenly, memories of the night before hit him full force.

 

Flashes of a seraph blade attacked his eyelids as he scrambled back from the group in front of him. Unfortunately, the _horrible_ couch was pressed against his back sooner than he had hoped it would be, and he was forced to stop scuttling backwards like a frightened crab. The group, made primarily of Shadowhunters, just stared at him, seemingly judging his reaction before they decided their next move. Raphael stared back with as much dignity as one can when half-cowering on the floor, and slowly levered himself back up using the couch behind him for support. He was careful not to take his eyes off of them, lest they decide he wasn't worth the effort an just decided to kill him. He remembered them, and he remembered hands all over his body, pulling his neck to the side. A flash of embarrassment cuts through the trembling fear when he remembers himself whining. The need to flee intensified until he was shaking with adrenaline, the ghostly hands still gripping his body and holding him down. He knew- he had heard- that some Shadowhunters saw downworlders as _toys_ , and while _he_ certainly didn't think he was great looking, that wouldn't stop _them_ , and neither would his body being fifteen; It hadn't stopped Camille, anyway.

 

His body _ached_ , and a headache _throbbed_ behind his eyes as his brain struggled to decide between a fight or flight response. His instincts and memories called to fight, to not let it happen again, but his brain knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against all of them. He remained in a half-crouched position next to the couch, and they remained standing a few feet in front of him. Raphael continued to stare at them with wide eyes, putting as much space between them as possible while also remaining close enough to use the abomination of a couch as a crutch. He slowly put the couch between himself and the Shadowhunters, the distance still feeling too small. Before he could do much else, Magnus swept into the room from _Dios knows where_. Raphael couldn't remember ever feeling this happy to see him.

 

“Raphael, you’re lucky that couch was _horrendous_ anyway, because those blood stains are _never coming out_ -”

 

Seeming to read the tension in the room, Magnus strutted over and quickly led Raphael onto the matching love-seat of the ugly couch, talking exasperatingly all the while, “but the style is just so _popular_ nowadays that I couldn’t _help_ embracing it!” Magnus explained, laughing distractingly at the incredulous expression Raphael could feel himself wearing. He felt the expression was justified;

 

Now was not the time for _pleasantries_. Not with _Shadowhunters_ in the room. Also, he felt no guilt for the couch's fate.

 

 Magnus situated himself on the already too small cushion beside Raphael and passed him a glass of what appeared to be blood. Deciding that his strength might be needed because of the four shadowhunters and the vampire (who could attack at any moment), Raphael brought the cup to his lips and _chugged_.

 

Raphael was _not_ expecting to take a mouthful of alcohol infused blood- probably more _alcohol than blood_ \- and he barely swallowed it before exploding into a coughing fit. Magnus simply rubbed his back and hummed, as though anticipating his reaction. He stared at his friend, expression filled with so much fear that he saw bewildered regret flash across Magnus' face. “ Qué diablos? Qué _es_ eso?” he sputtered, slamming the glass down and pushing it so far away that it almost slid off of the coffee table and stained the expensive carpet that was only just _barely_ better looking than the couch. He wanted to blame his violent reaction on the bitter taste, but he knew better, and he was fairly certain he had given something away from the way that Magnus stared at him thoughtfully. The Shadowhunters (the vampire was counted as one for the time being) watched him carefully. What a stupid thing to do; Raphael knew better than to accept an _open glass_ when in the presence of strangers, _especially_ when they walked the line between strangers and enemies. Magnus being there, being the one to hand it to him, didn’t matter. As much as it hurt to admit, friends could be bought and bribed to harm. Camille had taught him that lesson herself. She had taught him _a lot_ of 'lessons', actually, and most had to do with trust. The others were mostly about taxes and other inane clan duties that she didn't feel like doing. His job as second in command was more like the glorified secretary, honestly.

 

The other vampire curiously picked the cup up when it was clear that Raphael wasn’t going to touch it _ever again_ , not even with a _ten foot pole_. He regarded it with interest before bringing it to his lips. The sip he took was almost _immediately_ returned ungracefully to the cup not even a second later. “Holy _shit_ , that is _strong_!” he sputtered, his pretty face making a stupid face as the Shadowhunters watched with varying degrees of surprise and amusement. If he was trying to prove that it was safe to drink, he was failing miserably. Magnus still stared at Raphael, who was busy staring at the other vampire like he was the stupidest thing to walk the earth. That was _his_ cup, and possibly laced with something that was the vampire equivalent of _roofies_. And by the reactions of the Shadowhunters, they must not care for the vampire too much if they _let him drink that_ after seeing Raphael’s reaction to it.

 

The redheaded Shadowhunter interrupted his rapidly spiraling train of thought and dragged his warlock friend’s attention off of him, “Magnus, it’s _three_ _in the morning_!” she chastised tiredly, giving him the feeling that they had had this conversation before. Which meant Magnus _knew_ these strangers, and had perhaps done them a favor or two by supplying them with other downworlders. His friend didn't seem the type to do that, but Camille had absolutely _shattered_ his trust in others. When he'd just been turned he assumed that the immortal downworlders would be kind; aside from Magnus and Ragnor, nobody had impressed him with their outstanding kindness.

 

“It’s happy hour _somewhere,_  my dear,” Magnus quipped, uncrossing and recrossing his legs in one smooth movement that Raphael tracked with his eyes. The sound of the stiff fabric brushing grated his ears, but he was unwilling to show his discomfort with the Shadowhunters and their pet vampire in the room. He refused to show a weakness of any kind. If this was to be a documented meeting between the Vampires and the Shadowhunters, then Raphael needed to act as the diplomat in Camille’s absence, as he usually did. If this was an off-the-books meeting, as he feared it was, he would do whatever he had to in order to survive. The only reason he hadn't run for the door was his trust in Magnus.

 

Raphael sat up straighter and cautiously allowed Magnus to press another glass of _something_ into his hand. He held it and regarded them with what he hoped looked like cool disinterest (he wasn’t stupid enough to drink it this time). He would stay long enough to discover what was happening, but he would be gone as soon as possible. Shadowhunters made him uneasy.

 

He leveled the group with what he hoped was a smooth look of discontent and drily asked, “So, _cazadores de sombras_ , to what do we owe the _pleasure_ of this visit?”

 

The group looked annoyed at his emphasis on the world pleasure, but the other vampire looked at him for a while before exchanging looks with the redheaded Shadowhunter. Eventually he cleared his throat before hesitantly speaking up. “Your _well being_?” he said, sounding unsure of himself. Raphael scoffed, looking away and rolling his eyes dramatically and wanting to hide away from the annoyed looks it got him. The accords forbid fighting, not deserved sass. “I am _perfectly fine,_ and not _stupid_ enough to believe that you are here to exchange _pleasantries_. What do you require of the night children this time?" The entire group looked even more offended, and he wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he opted for attempting to sound more diplomatic, "I cannot act, but I _can_ inform our current leader-”

 

Magnus snapped his fingers with a cough as he attempted to keep his own drink in his mouth, and suddenly Raphael was laying back down on the ugly couch (nobody seemed to want to sit there- Raphael didn’t know if it was the bloodstains or the couch itself). His suddenly reclined and prone position made him jerk and shudder in surprise. Quickly rising up onto his elbows, he leveled his friend with a hard stare, begging him to explain with his wide eyes. "Dios mío, ¿y eso por qué fue?” he asked somewhat frantically in what he hoped sounded like a joking tone, slowly sitting up and swinging his legs over the end of the couch in hopes that they weren't really going to do this- that Magnus wasn't really going to keep him there. Unfortunately, his friend quickly pushed him back down again and moved his legs back onto the couch with a burst of magic. “Don’t move a _muscle_ , Raphael,” he ordered, and Raphael suddenly felt very cold. Anxiety always made him cold, despite his being a vampire for years. He did as he was told, and tried to ignore everything for a while.

 

“God, can vampires even _get_ head trauma?” Magnus muttered to himself, pacing in front of the couch. Raphael hoped that that wasn't their plan. He'd rather have something happen and _remember it_ than have it happen and possibly _die from head trauma_.

 

As his friend continued to pace, Raphael looked around from his place on the couch, his nerves causing him to actively avoid the eyes of everyone in the room. In his quest for less social awkwardness, he decided to simply search for interesting things in the room. There was bound to be _something_. The room was certainly decorated according to Magnus’ tastes, though Raphael hadn’t the slightest idea what the theme was this time. Though, to be fair, he never really saw a theme when it came to the warlock’s taste in decor. Unlike the hotel, Magnus didn't simply have a gold themed room.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” the tall female Shadowhunter asked, stepping _way_ into Raphael’s space. She seemed to be attempting to diagnose him with something, but Raphael didn’t _feel_ wrong. He felt like the entire situation was wrong, but not he himself. Perhaps she was trying to see what Magnus was so worried about (it made him feel better that she couldn’t seem to find anything before he realized that having something be wrong with him would probably make him seem unappealing and they might leave him alone). Regardless, she was too close for his liking. "It isn't any or your business," he hissed anxiously, trying to look slightly annoyed by her closeness and speaking as if he wasn’t there instead of looking as terrified as he felt. She looked a bit hurt, but it did the trick; she backed away from him, but continued to stare. It was unnerving, like she was looking through him.

 

“He seems fine to _me_ ,” the blonde spit out, looking annoyed at Raphael’s blatant disrespect for his friend. He shivered, feeling colder than he thought was possible in the warm room.

 

 The redhead slapped his arm at the same time that the other male Shadowhunter admonished him, “ _Jace_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Magnus, when you took me here, I thought you were going to _help_ me, not _surround me with strangers_ ,” Raphael whispered, nervously eyeing the Shadowhunters and their _very_ awkward vampire with poorly disguised terror. At least the other seemed as putt-off as he was. After the blonde one had started to get snarky and Raphael had started to shake with a mix of nerves and anger, Magnus had quickly separated them, leading himself and Raphael to their semi-hidden corner of the room. Magnus’ face went from confused to blank to _worried_ in _seconds_. “ _Raphael_ ,” he said slowly, calling Raphael’s attention away from where he was sizing up everyone else, “you _know_ these people.” Raphael narrowed his eyes at his friend. “ _No_ , I do _not_ ,” he said with exaggerated slowness to match Magnus’. At any rate, he was sure that he was about to know them _far_ more intimately than he wanted. Social situations with Magnus never ended with anybody as strangers.

 

Something flashed in his friend’s eyes before a determined look crossed over his face. “Well, I’ll just have to _introduce you_ then, won’t I,” he sighed, as if some great burden was placed on his shoulders. Raphael couldn’t resist replying, “Don’t feel like you have to,” he said, half snarkily and half honestly _begging_ his friend not to do this to him. Magnus didn't seem to notice. He gripped Raphael’s hand and began to drag him back to the group of strangers in the living room. Raphael stubbornly dug his heels in, but that stopped when Magnus gave him a _look_ over his shoulder. Reluctantly, he left the safety of his corner and followed his friend, panic clogging his throat and choking the spiteful words he wanted to say. Dios, they _hated_ him, he knew they did! What if they hurt him?

 

“Everyone, this is Raphael Santiago, Raphael, this is Jace,” the annoying blonde raised his hand and an eyebrow, “Biscuit-” the redhead quickly corrected him with a loudly spoken, “ _Clary_.” Magnus continued on, unbothered, “Alexander-” the tall dark haired Shadowhunter corrected him as well, “Alec.” Rolling his eyes, Magnus ignored him, “ _Alexander_ ,” he repeated before he pointed to the stunning female Shadowhunter with dark hair who had been too close earlier, “Isabelle,” and he finally pointed to the other vampire in the room. “And that,” he paused dramatically, “is Sheldon.”

 

The vampire got an annoyed look on his face before correcting him, “ _Simon_.”

 

“Sally it is.”

 

Magnus had never been this bad with names, so Raphael assumed he was simply trying to get a rise out of the vampire. It didn’t look like it was particularly _hard_ to do so. He wanted to ask his friend why he was doing it before he threw Raphael to the proverbial social-wolves, but he couldn't. His mouth wouldn't form the words. He felt so out of place, he just wanted to hide behind Magnus until this was over. Maybe if he played along it would go faster.

 

Despite Magnus having introduced him already, Raphael spoke quietly into the silence that had befallen the group, “I am Raphael Santiago, second in command to Camille Belcourt, of the New York clan.”

 

Ringing silence followed his introduction. In the growing awkwardness, Raphael struggled not to shift and fidget in his spot as the Shadowhunters stared at him. “ _Second_?” Magnus asked incredulously at the same time as the other vampire whispered, “ _Camille_?” It was said so softly that Raphael almost missed it. The other vampire sounded _terrified,_ and a wave of guilt crashed over him for scaring him- _Simon._ Perhaps the Shadowhunters had rented him out to her before? If so, then Raphael understood the fear the other seemed to have for her; she had almost drained him multiple times.

 

Jace began to immediately speculate about how Raphael had to be _wrong_ \- like he wouldn’t _know_ about his own _leader._ If Raphael had been less terrified of taking a wrong step, he would feel insulted. Instead, he only felt awkward and doubtful of what he knew.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he said slowly, interrupting Jace mid-rant and wanting to kick himself for doing so. He regretted doing it, but he had been working himself up over what was most likely a misunderstanding. He glanced around the room, all of the Shadowhunters looked doubtfully at him, but Magnus simply looked _disturbed_. She was his ex, so it must have been awkward to talk about her.

 

“Raphael, what year do you think it is?” the warlock joked, but his eyes were sharp. The rest of the group caught on and looked at him expectantly. It's not like this was the _important_ part of this meeting, why did the exact date matter? Raphael knew it had only been a few years since he had been turned, _maybe_ three, but time had already started to just slip by him. He hardly counted the _weeks_ , let alone _days_. Maybe this was a joke? Raphael hadn't really known Magnus long enough to tell.

 

Scared of giving the wrong answer and displeasing the Shadowhunters, Raphael glanced around the room for clues. Unfortunately, thanks to Magnus’ odd sense of style, there were none to be found. The blonde stepped towards him, and Raphael quickly let out a low whine that mixed with a defensive hiss, his nerves getting the better of him.

 

“Jace, be careful-” The one called Alexander- Alec- said, making a move to grab his friends arm. Jace shook his hand loose.

 

“We need to know what he knows- or what he _thinks_ he does anyway,” Jace insisted, pausing to look back at Alec.

 

Ah, an interrogation before the main event, then. Raphael glanced over at Magnus, who was too busy whispering to Isabelle to pay him any attention. Fight or flight kicked in again, but with more force, his panic going haywire. His eyes scanned the room, gaze pausing on the window. Glass was easy to shatter if you hit it hard enough, and vampire strength made it that much easier. Was it too dramatic for escaping a mere social situation? Perhaps. But these Shadowhunters looked tired and irritated, as if _he_ was the one not making any sense. It could escalate quickly, and Raphael didn't want to be here when that happened.

 

Steeling himself, Raphael quickly darted for the window, ignoring Magnus’ appalled cry of “Raphael!”. He made it three fourths of the way there before he was being grabbed and dragged back, hissing and squirming, by the other vampire. He didn’t think he had been _obvious_ with his plan to run, but apparently he needed to work on that. Or just work on accepting that this was going to happen, enthusiastic consent on his part or not.

 

 The other vampire grabbed his shirt at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder for a better grip as he led him back to the group like an unruly child who had run off in the supermarket. He was handed off to Magnus, who pushed him down onto the couch sternly before backing up and staring at him with disappointment and confusion in his eyes. Raphael stared back at him with betrayal written all over his face. His friend was going to let this happen, wasn’t he? Raphael was most likely not going to survive this meeting with the Shadowhunters, and Magnus didn't seem to care at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the third escape attempt (Raphael was never one to accept his fate, however unfortunate), the other vampire, Simon, simply sat next to him so that he could grab him easier; being the only person in the room fast enough to catch him and strong enough to hold him gave him an advantage in a fight- and the job of babysitter. Raphael had been trying to sneakily scooch away and put more space between them, but the other vampire simply fixed him with a kicked puppy look so strong that he just gave up. He preferred it to the silver bonds that Jace had suggested, anyway.

 

With him secured, they continued their soft interrogation. He says soft, because they didn’t seem to be getting angry enough to harm him under the cover of him _‘withholding valuable information’_. Still, they weren’t letting him _leave_. He didn't know what they wanted, but he knew that they would gladly pry it away from him eventually. They had yet to make any actual demands from him, aside from demanding that he stop trying to run away.

 

A flash of panic hit him when he remembered that Camille must be looking for him (not out of _concern,_ out of _boredom_ ), unless _she_ had been the one to arrange this. The odds of that were slim; she _hated_ sharing her toys. He would be in trouble when he got back, and Camille had a harsh way of dealing with people who kept her waiting, but she dealt with him differently. (Logically, having sex with an _incredibly_ beautiful woman under most circumstances would be seen as a _reward_. Somehow, Raphael was bothered by it enough that it became a _punishment_.) The scars on his chest where she had bitten him to bring him pleasure seemed to ache and burn at the unexpected memory of her on top of him. They weren't _pretty_ by any definition, and he hoped that the Shadowhunters would see them and leave him alone in disgusted pity, as they did so often.

 

All it took was a hand grabbing his wrist to launch him out of his own mind and across the room, where he staggered at the massive head-rush that came with too much sudden movement and fell unsteadily into a crouch. If his heart still beat it would have been pounding as he stared at the sea of unfamiliar faces (and _Magnus_ -). They were all speaking at once, clogging his ears as they moved quickly towards him, _crowding_ him. Simon got there first, thanks to his superior speed, and all it took was a cold finger tip brushing his shoulder before Raphael was off again. Kicked puppy look be damned, Raphael was getting out of here; he was going to at least try. 

 

This time, he made it to the window in time to shatter the glass before he was dragged back. He clawed desperately at the window sill, leaving deep grooves in the frame as the glass tore into his hands. Multiple pairs of hands grabbed at his shirt, attempting to forcefully drag him further into the room (He could swear he felt more hands than he should have- they were freezing). The fabric, despite being well-made and expensive, tore under the strain, leaving him almost bare chested. When the first hand to make skin contact was cold, Raphael’s knees buckled out of panic and they hit the floor with a crack. This couldn't be happening, oh, God, not again- Apparently fight _and_ flight had left him, and now he was frozen in his position on the glossy hardwood that covered the floor, trapped in two different times that quickly blended and intertwined so thoroughly that he didn't even know where he was.

 

He felt teeth in his neck at the same time that people called his name.

 

He felt freezing hands hold him down as the other hands let him go.

 

He heard yelling and feminine whispers of his name purred into his ear.

 

And then he felt nothing at all.

 

Raphael quickly adapted to the feeling, embraced it, ice clogging his veins as he curled into himself, trying to hide as many of his scars as possible by clapping his hands over his neck and hunching down.

 

“I request a new shirt and a moment to prepare,” he whispered, his thickly accented voice sounding off even to his own ears. The Shadowhunters and their vampire had backed up under Magnus’ direction, giving him space but trapping him in a circle. Magnus was staring at Raphael, his body tense with shock and his eyes filled with pain. If he regretted his decision to force Raphael to stay, it was obviously too late. Simon and the Shadowhunters continued to stare, but Magnus looked away from him as if the sight if Raphael pained him. His glamoured eyes flashed between brown and catlike.

 

It honestly took Raphael a second to understand what the warlock was looking at. The bite marks, shimmery in a way that only scars could be, stood out on his skin. Even then, he simply repeated his request. It wasn’t as if Magnus hadn’t already _known,_ or at least _guessed_ what Camille had been doing _._

 

 

* * *

 

 

The shirt he wore now was a deep red, flimsy thing. It didn’t suit him as well as it would have suited Magnus, but it covered his weaknesses, his _scars_ , so he guessed it worked. They had moved him back to the love-seat, though this time he had it to himself. He didn't mind; the extra room allowed him to curl his legs to his body and hide under the scratchy blanket Magnus had handed him. When they continued to ask questions, and Magnus didn’t stop them, Raphael was just silent; the ice still clogged his veins. The interrogation had taken on a more apprehensive tone, and Raphael took the time to mentally prepare himself for what was going to happen. It was hard, because he didn't know what to prepare _for_ , but he simply decided to ready himself for the worst case scenario. Honestly, he felt apathetic. Eventually, they would have to let him go anyway, so did what they would do even matter in the long run?

 

Admittedly, he was close to cracking, to breaking down and just pushing things along so he could _leave_ -

 

He wasn’t sure what would be _worse_ : Camille having to wait even longer, or him just- just _giving in_ and coming back to her as soon as possible. The Shadowhunters were done asking questions and were instead just softly _telling him things_ , but none of it made any sense. They said that Camille was _dead_ , that _he_ was the head vampire of the clan, that he _knew_ them, that they had _found him in an alley_ -

 

Raphael stopped listening to them altogether, confusion swirling around in his head and blurring everything around him. Magnus had at some point gotten up and walked over to whisper something to him. He was terrified, and confused, and so _lost_ with what they were even trying to do, with what they _wanted_ from him.

 

When Magnus laid a hand on his shoulder, over the blanket, Raphael hissed at him, baring his fangs and tearing his hand out of the others grip in a brief fit of terrified rage. Magnus looked vaguely hurt at being hissed at, but as he had apparently sided with the _Shadowhunters_ , Raphael felt that he deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué diablos? Qué es eso?- what the hell? what is that?  
> cazadores de sombras- hunters of shadows  
> "Dios mío, ¿y eso por qué fue?“- my god, what was that for


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EATING DISORDER TW APPLIES IN THIS CHAPTER

Raphael, to the extreme dismay of everyone else, continued to try to escape at every opportunity. And while he wasn't breaking any more windows (the vampire, Simon, had freaked out at how shredded his hands were the first time. Raphael wasn't sure why the other cared, or why he liked that he did), he had been caught multiple times while running for the door. Now, however, every escape attempt has been postponed, unless he wishes to burn in the sun. It’s fine by him; the delayed attempts only give him more time to plot. But there's only so many ways you can think of to escape Magnus and his gaggle of friendly Shadowhunters. After running out of increasingly creative ways to escape, he takes the remaining time to reflect and review what he's managed to learn between escape attempts and flashes of panic.

They, the Shadowhunters, the vampire, and the warlock (Raphael isn't quite certain he should call him a friend right now; as much as it hurts to acknowledge it, the warlock's betrayal still burns in the back of his mind), didn't seem to want to hurt him. Magnus not wishing him harm, he could understand; the warlock had helped him a long time ago, and he had never been the type to do something for no reason. But what was with the others? Maybe the vampire has a misplaced sense of guilt for not stopping his friends, but the Shadowhunters-

Shadowhunters usually had their heads so far up their own asses that downworlders were seen as little more than collateral damage too often. Having a group of them all over him was almost like what he imagined the Witness Protection Program of Shadowhunters to be like. Except, Raphael didn't think he had any information for them that they wanted or that they would even _believe_ , but apparently they didn't think he knew much anyway. He tried to not be insulted by their dismissal of his words. He had completely failed. In his defense, he simply wasn't used to Shadowhunters who didn't want any information from him; He was used to being doubted about what information he actually _gave_. It was odd; they didn't seem to expect anything but more escape attempts from him. The phrase 'memory loss' had been tossed around, thrown at him with oddly blank looks, like he would freak out if they spoke too loudly (and he was _grateful_ -). Raphael had heard that extreme blood loss could lead to such a thing (Camille loved to toy with the thought of permanent injury during her time with him, whispering dangerous things in his ear that made unpleasant shivers run down his form), and his first thought had been ' _what did Camille do to me_?' Raphael briefly thought that the question was unfair before, seconds later, someone laid a hand on his shoulder and he almost went through the ceiling (Seriously, _fuck_ Camille).

It was only after the sun had come up that the blonde, the redhead, and the stunning female Shadowhunter had left, exhaustion clear on their faces. Raphael would have felt bad about forgetting their names, except for Simon's for some reason, but honestly he didn’t like them enough to memorize their names. ‘Shadowhunter’ was good enough; it was even gender-neutral. Besides, 'Shadowhunter' was considered an _honorable_ position among Shadowhunters, _big surprise_ , so it was technically a compliment. When you weren't spitting it at them. It wasn't like they didn't spit 'Downworlder' back at them.

The Shadowhunters had let themselves out the way that they had let themselves in, and Magnus had gripped Raphael's shoulder before making a break for the open door could even cross his mind. Simon had looked torn between staying with someone who didn't even _remember him_ and following his friends. After a while of the battle clearly waging a war on his face he had decided to leave, but he'd glanced guiltily at Raphael as he left, like he’d somehow betrayed him. Raphael was left with the distinct feeling that he _had_ , somehow. It had been _ridiculous_. Everyone but the the tall nervous Shadowhunter and Magnus had left. Those two had vanished somewhere into the large apartment, seemingly decided that leaving Raphael alone for now was the best option. The building had never seemed quieter than it did now, although Raphael didn't exactly have a lot of knowledge about how it usually was. He wished that that didn’t bother him. It did anyway, despite how much he pretended that it didn't.

 

* * *

 

 

Occasionally, Raphael would go stand in the corner that Magnus had dragged him to so he could tell him he knew the Shadowhunters. More than occasionally, he stayed there for all hours of the night and most of the day; at certain times the sunlight reached the corner from the window. Magnus dragged him away from his corner at those times. He almost felt unsafe without his normal position; it was much harder for something to sneak up on him if his back was to a solid wall (With his vampire senses, it should have been harder anyway. It wasn't).

Sometimes, Magnus or the Shadowhunter would walk through the room and look surprised that he was still standing there. Weighted looks continued to be thrown Raphael’s way, like if they stared at him long enough he’d just start cackling madly at them and say it was a _joke_ , that he _remembered_. He wasn’t one for giving such a performance, but if it would get him out of here, Raphael was willing to consider it as an option. It was better than the window that he was eyeing in a hopefully discreet manner, despite the sunlight shining through it. It had never looked so inviting.

As if reading his mind, Magnus appeared with a flourish, the tall Shadowhunter behind him, ironically acting as a shadow for the warlock. He didn't seem to be surprised to see Raphael standing there during the day, which was telling. “Raphael," he called, trying to sound surprised, but just sounding tired. He shook himself before venturing on, "it appears to be past your bedtime,” he announced with forced aloofness, before spinning on his heel and walking down a hallway with a clear invitation to follow him. Raphael remained where he was out of stubbornness and the still lingering betrayal he had felt that Shadowhunters had been called over in the first place.

It took a few seconds for Magnus to acknowledge that the only person following him was his Shadowhunter, and he came back looking slightly affronted. Out of the corner of his eye, Raphael watched Magnus and the Shadowhunter exchange distinctly paternal looks. “Maybe he’s… hungry,” suggested the Shadowhunter, who didn’t seem to want to think too hard about what it was Raphael even _ate_. He wanted to snap at him but stopped, losing his fire when he realized what was going to happen if he _did_ snap; a battle of ‘ _you need to eat_ ’ verses ‘ _I don’t trust you_ ’. “I’m _not_ ,” he bit out, hoping that they wouldn’t push it. His hopes were quickly squashed beneath Magnus’ questionably fashionable shoes. “Alexander, you must be right. I'm a _terrible_ host,” they turned to actually address the person they were talking about, “Would you like something?” He paused, looking a little stretched thin, "anything at all?" he asked with a smile that wilted upon seeing the expression of distrust on Raphael’s face. The entire conversation felt like a stolen script from an information booklet called  _'How to Help a Trauma Victim'_ , which was _not_ what Raphael was.

“ _No_ , now leave me alone,” Raphael muttered scathingly. Magnus’ face fell before he turned back to talk with the Shadowhunter again. Raphael tuned them out, not wanting to hear what they were saying about him. He was starving, and he _knew it_ , but it was no worse than when he had been freshly turned and refusing to eat to see how long he could go. He was _positive_ he could go longer; long enough that he could get blood that he knew for sure hadn’t been _tampered with_.

He turned and walked away from the hushed conversation and the sheer temptation that the sunlight provided, returning to the room he had been so _generously_ gifted for his forced stay in the apartment.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Different variations of the same interaction _kept happening_. The two seemed to be everywhere Raphael was. Though maybe they were around more than usual because Raphael wasn’t sleeping during the day like he should be, instead opting to remain as close to the sunlight as possible. Alexander (whose name had been learned because of just _how often_ it was said) would occasionally hover in his general area when he thought Raphael wouldn’t notice; when Raphael was in his corner, Alexander could be found reading while sitting on the new couch that was worse than the one Raphael had ruined. When he so much as glanced in the direction of the fridge, Alexander was just- _there_ with the offer of blood on his tongue and an awkward and uncomfortable look on his face. Magnus was definitely worse with his _entirely_ staged _‘oh, hello, I was just going to get a snack and oh would you like something?_ ’ that he pulled no less than _three times a day_. He would seek Raphael out to have one-sided chats that usually ended pretty quickly thanks to Raphael's silence.

It was even worse when they were together, which was, oddly enough, most of the time; they tended to gang up on him when he least expected it. It had made his skin crawl when he had woken up to a cracked open bedroom door and Alexander and Magnus watching him with thoughtful expressions. They had carried him from his corner like a parent would carry a child who had fallen asleep in the car to their bed. They were just like worried parents. It was as entertaining as it was exhausting and _infuriating_. He didn't need to be coddled, he needed to _leave._ At least he was mostly left alone at night. Unfortunately, he still couldn't escape; Magnus had almost entirely _‘Raphael-proofed’_ the house. After apparently tripping some invisible alarm multiple times trying to open the magiced-shut door and facing Magnus’ disappointed and worried face, and Alexander's matching stern face, he had given up.

Those faces became a constant when days had passed and Raphael still hadn’t eaten.

Even though he tried to avoid it, Raphael saw his reflection. It haunted him from everything ranging from mirrors to things so shiny that they became just another reflective surface. He knew he was looking sicker by the minute, like those teenagers who were so obsessed with achieving perfection they _starved_ for it. The build that had once looked so strong had dwindled severely without food to sustain it. He was obviously starving, despite Magnus and Alexander’s best attempts to feed him or get him to feed himself. The most they could achieve was carrying him to bed when he collapsed.

What little trust he’d had in the warlock had been shattered and blown away in the wind the second he had given Raphael infused blood during his meeting with the Shadowhunters.

Still, it hurt to _watch_ Magnus watch Raphael become _nothing_. So, he started eating again. With no _safe_ way to get clean blood, Raphael took to absolutely _filling_ himself with human food. The kitchen was empty a lot, Magnus usually just leading Alexander away from the kitchen, despite the other's protests, and snapping his fingers. This left the fridge open to his not-quite-cravings. He often just grabbed something and ate as much as he could before he would be caught. The food dwindled rapidly, and he hoped that one of the others wouldn't find out. He _needed_ this. It didn’t taste as good as he remembered, and it wasn’t what he needed, but it worked to fill _something_ in him. It made him feel less like a _monster,_ more _human_. It offered a temporary relief.

But it also made him sick.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Things come to a head when Raphael is caught heaving over the ceramic bowl in the bathroom connected to his temporary room by a horrified Alexander.

Alexander, who runs for Magnus immediately, his socked feet thumping lightly on the floor. For a few blissful seconds, Raphael can almost convince himself that the soft thumps are his own heartbeat- that he's human again. That he can go _home_. He hears Alexander yelling for Magnus and he wishes that he felt angry about it, but he doesn't. He can't.

(Despite being a Shadowhunter, and a friend to the blonde one, Alexander defied all of Raphael’s expectations. No matter how many times he had tried to goad the Shadowhunter into hurting him, hitting him, hell, even getting _remotely_ angry, Alexander never took the bait. In fact, as he stared at him, Raphael got the impression that he had been giving away more about _himself_ with his antics than he had thought. The idea of that disturbs him enough that he stops talking to Alexander all together; he starts avoiding him. He pretends he doesn't notice the confusion on Magnus' face, and the hurt on the Shadowhunter's.)

Alexander appears back in the doorway, looking lost and scared.

And Raphael- he breaks. He falls apart, clutching the toilet bowl hard enough that, had he been eating and had his strength been at normal levels, it would have _shattered_. Now, it doesn’t even crack.

Suddenly, Magnus is there, pushing Alexander away from the door and taking his place. Raphael is almost expecting him to continue to burst dramatically through the doorway in sleepwear before he remembers that its most likely around mid-morning. He is actually dressed as fashionable as he usually is, even if it is toned down a bit. When he puts the pieces together, Raphael feels guilty for ruining what appeared to be their lazy day. He also expects Magnus to immediately be next to him, helping him up or asking what happened, what _caused this_ , but all he does is share a despair filled look with Alexander, before quickly leaving and taking the Shadowhunter with him- and suddenly he gets the notion that they both knew, or at least suspected what he had been doing to himself. Raphael tries to swallow down the empty feeling that the thought brings and fails. Instead, he rises from the floor, feeling shaky, and cleans up before leaving the bathroom. He doesn’t _dare_ go and get more mundane food, simply choosing to avoid his housemates by staying in his room. Nobody comes to check on him, and he is stupidly grateful and hurt by it.

As soon as the sun is low enough in the sky, Simon is knocking on the door to the apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment! I thrive on Kudos and comments. Also, I'm never really happy with how my writing turns out, so I'll be going over it and rewriting it to make it better constantly!


End file.
